


Decreed to the Beyond

by luxiebutton



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Marriage Law Challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24244195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxiebutton/pseuds/luxiebutton
Summary: Marriage Law. Hermione has worked as an Unspeakable since the end of the War two years ago. All she wants is to live a quiet life and do her research. Hard to do that when the Minister throws a wrench in the works and passes a marriage law 'for the good of Wizarding England'.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Hermione Granger
Comments: 25
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

**_Ministry of Magic Enacts Marriage Law!_ **

_ In a surprise move the Minister for Magic introduced an emergency bill to the Wizengamot just this last week, detailing a marriage law largely influenced by legislation from before the days of Secrecy. Emergency bills require the Wizengamot to meet on the subject within 72 hours and vote before they disband again as long as criteria for an emergency bill are met. A spokesperson for the Office of Arithmancy who declined to be named insists this law fulfills all the criteria for an emergency bill. "This last census, paired with our best calculations, leave no room for doubt that the Dark wizards and creature attacks of this last century have left British Wizarding Kind perilously close to dying out. if we don't maximise our childbirth numbers now, there will be no Wizarding England." _

_ The Marriage Law act was passed successfully, however the official details are still being ironed out. What is certain is that unspeakables have ancient rites that will pair up magical cores with the greatest accuracy possible. Anyone without a match of their own will be scheduled for an appointment with the Ministry. "What we do not want, is to force unwilling and imperfect couples together," said Percy Weasley. An aide to the Minister, Weasley has worked closely on the details with other departments to ensure the best success. "People will be paired according to the best that our extensive magical tests can offer." In ancient days, these Marriage rites were performed to keep witches and wizards from marrying muggles. "The idea was that people wouldn't be so willing to marry a muggle if they knew the spells could find their soulmate, essentially," Weasley explained. _

_ Due to the Minister's precipitous move, blood relations are growing tense. The Coalition for Muggle-Born Rights have championed the Marriage Law, citing it as proof that defining blood status can only destroy society. "Those antiquated definitions are what brought these wars to our stoop. They must be set aside for our children's sake and for our future," said Justin Finch-Fletchly, who gave a rousing speech to his fellow Coalition members. He went on to cite census numbers and male to female ratios in each blood status group. "There simply aren't enough pureblood women to be matched with pureblood men. And that same scenario plays out for muggleborns and halfbloods too. We will not be able to stay within the limiting confines of blood." He notes with evident joy that the next generation will likely be almost entirely halfbloods and muggleborns, with the following generation being entirely halfbloods and the occasional muggle born. _

_ The Ladies Auxiliary, pureblood society wives involved in various works of charity and society betterment, could not be reached for comment. _

_ For more information on previous marriage laws and what may be involved in this latest enactment, turn to Page 3. _

  
  


Hermione threw the paper down with disgust. A marriage law? How had she not known about this? The Love unspeakables often worked with her section on Life and Death. Surely she would have known if Percy Weasley was wandering in the Lower Levels for his marriage law. Behind her, an owl flew up to the open window. It hooted softly, sticking out it's leg for Hermione to grab the parchment attached. Hermione sighed, and unrolled it. She waved to the bowl of owl treats on the windowsill without looking at the bird.

_ Hermione: _

_ Meeting at Grimmauld Place at 3. _

_ Harry _

  1. _Did you know about the law? I guess Percy did and didn't say anything. Ron's furious, but Mr Weasley isn't saying anything since they've only just gotten Percy to start visiting again._



Of course they'd meet up. The Order of the Phoenix wasn't really needed anymore, and they certainly didn't meet in any official capacity, but fighting side by side together had formed tight bonds. Dinner was usually various former Order members struggling to adjust to normal life again.

Hermione didn't often second guess her choices. Nor did she regret them. She'd second guessed leading Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest though. When Sirius Black had fallen into the Veil and Harry had fallen into darkness with him, Hermione had second guessed her every action leading up to it. When they'd offered her positions in the Wizengamot and the Unspeakables, she'd chosen Unspeakables to try and undo what the Veil had done. But then Harry began to move on. He dated Ginny seriously, he focused on being godfather to Teddy. He began to smile again. So she finished her reports and filed her findings away in one of the endless cabinets. If Harry was beginning to grieve less openly less frequently, she wasn't to throw a wrench in the natural order of things. But that didn't stop the next round of newbies from pulling her research out and continuing. Everyone lost someone from the war, Hermione couldn't really blame them for trying.

Until they pulled Sirius Black from the Veil. That had been a nasty conversation. "Hello Harry, I researched how to bring your godfather back for you but stopped just shy since you seemed alright. These nice blokes finished the work though, Happy Christmas!"

Unsurprisingly that didn't go over well. But Harry got over it, and Black moved in with him at Grimmauld. If Harry told Sirius of her involvement in his return, he didn't show it. After all, the Veil didn't spit him out all gaunt and tattooed. Oh no. It spit him out like he was back in his prime before Azkaban.

"All lean and muscled...and that hair! And the way he dresses! It's like every proper pureblood, just without the Death Eater part." Ginny had said to Hermione one night.

"Ginny, you're practically engaged, come on." Hermione responded. Ginny waved that off.

"Of course I am, but a girl can still look can't she?"

It took a bit to be able to look at Black after that without hearing Ginny's words in her ears. Now, Hermione left the papers on her dining room table to get ready for the day. By the time she apparated on Harry's doorstep, she'd had enough time to stop by the bookstore and find something on the laws and rites behind the Act. Inside was a large commotion. People were crowded around the dining table and kitchen island. Most looked too stressed to nibble on the snacks Mrs Weasley had laid out. Kinglsey was there, a rare appearance indeed, trying to wrest control of the room.

"Everyone, please!" He boomed. "This is not as drastic as it seems. It is imperative that the heroes of the war, all of you gathered here, comply with the Law. The numbers make it very clear we will die out if this isn't done."

That didn't do much to calm the unmarried folk in front of him.

"What about my girlfriend? Will we be separated?" someone asked.

"Yeah! What if I don't find someone?"

"I don't want my daughter matched with some death eater if she can't have Harry!" Mrs Weasley cried. Kingsley raised his hands, acknowledging the flurry of questions.

"If you are already with someone to marry within the deadline, you'll be fine. We won't match anyone unless they find themselves without anyone to marry. Nobody here will be matched to a Death Eater."

Percy Weasley stepped forward pompously. He looked to the Minister.

"If I may, Minister?" He asked. Kingsley conceded. Percy pushed his glasses up and held his papers up to read.

"The likelihood of anyone here specifically being matched to a Death Eater is quite low. The unspeakables were very clear on that front. Their spells match magical cores and as you know personality is a part of your magical core. It goes without saying that anyone you are matched to will hold similar beliefs and ideas and goals. We made sure of it." He finished.

"You run more of a risk engaging yourself to someone you don't know or hardly know than letting the unspeakables perform the rite for you," Hermione said quietly.

Someone next to her pushed her forward a bit.

"Granger should know about this stuff," they said. Eyes turned to Hermione expectantly. She flushed a bit, but repeated herself a bit louder.

"The risk is greater if you engage yourself to someone you don't know or hardly know. You can't lie about your magical core, but you can lie to someone you've just met." She said. But the words weren't very convincing even to her. She tried again.

"The origin of these laws was to convince people not to marry muggles. They find as close to your soulmate as they can, because most people would comply if they thought they were getting a better deal. There's very little in the books about the spells not working, or people being hurt."

Percy waved his hand. 

"Well there you go. The laws work best," he said imperiously.

Hermione snorted.

There wasn't much to add after that. Kingsley said they hadn't worked out the age range yet, or the childbearing requirements, and refused to say more on the topic. Molly set out dinner for everyone and they moved on to happier topics.

Hermione threw herself into work after that. Whether it was a distraction or something else, she didn't consider. In fact the law didn't cross her mind again until nearly a week later when the morning paper announced the details that had been decided on. Hermione glanced over it. Once again, Finch-Fletchly was putting his group at the centre of the law and what it stood for. Hermione had thought about campaigning for the Coalition, or at least donating to it. But she just wanted to integrate into society quietly. Enough of saving the world, someone else could do the hard work for a bit. For now, Hermione was happy conducting obscure research on ancient magics and the ways of the dark and the deep.

**_A Baby Boom in Five Years, Minister Predicts!_ **

_ Minister Shacklebolt has given an official press conference with newly minted details of his controversial marriage law. At least one baby is required within 5 years time, he announced, and no birth control can be used before a couple has 4 children. When asked about medical conditions and difficulties, the Minister said there of course stipulations within the childbearing requirement.  _

_ “We understand some are incapable of children. Currently there is discussion of adopting muggleborn infants to raise in our society, but nothing is certain on that front. We also understand that it may not be safe for some women to carry up to 4 children. The law is clear that frequent Healer checks are required, and if anything is found it will be treated to the best of St Mungo’s abilities.” Pressed further on incurable cases, Minister Shacklebolt stated Healers could issue exemption papers, but that due to the severity of the Wizarding situation there would be much work before then to discourage fraud.  _

_ A spokesperson for the Arithmancy department has given press access to the calculations, citing a need for transparency now more than ever. “It is imperative that the public see the calculations for themselves. This law is for the betterment of our future and must be complied to the fullest extent possible,” he said gravely. Independent sources have verified the calculations and agree: the law must pass.  _

_ Unspeakables present at the event refused to describe what rituals would be used. They did however insist that people refrain from “proposing in the streets”, citing historical evidence of their successes. “We can guarantee that matches will with time respond well to each other, you will not find this guarantee elsewhere.” _

_ Despite the careful words, more than one salesperson has taken to Diagon Alley with the promise of a ‘true soulmate’, or offering ‘expert matchmaking with experience from the Continent’. Ministry guidelines recommend avoiding these services and reminds people that they are not Ministry certified or regulated. _

The image on the front gave the complete picture of the law. It was, in essence, dreadful. 

As of 1 July, anyone aged 17-55, is required to comply with the law if they are not married or about to be married, by 15 August. Unmarried witches who have already gone through menopause are required to be examined by a Healer and turn in a notice of exemption by 31 July. Married couples (matched by the Ministry or otherwise) who in time prove to be unable to bear the required 4 children, must turn in notices of exemption. Legislation currently being reviewed by the Wizengamot will determine if infertle couples would be required to adopt muggleborn children. Birth control and abortion of any sort are prohibited until a couple has had the required 4 children or gives notice of exemption. Failure to comply with the law at any point will result in heavy fines and possibly Azkaban, see British Society for Magical Legislature section 8.3.5 for details.

Two weeks was all they had, until the law would go into effect. If only Hermione could have stayed with Ron after the War. It would have made things simpler right now. But it just didn’t work out. Not anyone’s fault, per se, just that they had different directions in life. Ron wanted to stay in the limelight and become an auror, Hermione wanted to get out of the public eye and research obscure mystical magics.

Hermione wasn’t really in the mood to be at the Weasley’s too much, what with everything going on. But there wasn’t a better place to get information before it hit the papers. So she spent the next week stopping by after work, staying for dinner, bringing her books to study, and generally hanging around. If it was more than she’d visited in the two years since the War, no one said anything. She even helped the Twins with a product once or twice.

“What you all need to be prepared for, is the letters. They’ll start on the first,” Mr Weasley said over dinner one night. 

“Pass the potatoes please,” Hermione said quietly. “They’ll have our matches already?” She asked the greying man at the head of the table. Arthur shook his head, hesitating as he swallowed his food. Ginny passed Hermione the potatoes.

“No, gracious no. The first letter will be for anyone to inform the Ministry if they already have someone to marry. If you don’t, they’ll have you send back some of your essence like a lock of hair and your signature so they can start the work. Word is that when you do get your match letter it might very well have several names on it. Then you’d inform the Ministry which names you won’t marry, or which ones would be alright and they’ll leave you with whoever else agreed to your name in order of most magically compatible. It’s all a bit fascinating, isn’t it?” Mr Weasley asked. 

“Not when it’s your name they’re working with,” George snorted. 

“Yeah, can’t imagine the Ministry telling us to get separate birds,” Fred added, stabbing his pork angrily. Hermione looked up curiously at that. 

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Fred and I are magical twins, we stick to one bird for the two of us,” George explained, waving his fork at his twin. Hermione looked to the two of them wide eyed and blushing. Ginny, seeing Hermione’s position, cackled. 

“Guessing muggles don’t like triads then? Nothing like that here,” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and laughed at Hermione’s discomfort. Arthur jumped on the topic of muggles. 

“Is it true that there aren’t triads in the muggle world?” He asked Hermione. She turned to him, grateful for the save.

“Not as far as I know, it’s seen as a bit...rude I suppose. Certainly nothing to be proud of.”

“Oh enough of that,” Mrs Weasley said waving her hand, “Come now I have dessert ready!”

Harry and Ginny came by the Burrow June 30th to announce their wedding. Not that anyone was surprised. When the excitement and well wishing settled down a bit and talk turned to the law, Harry pulled Arthur, Percy, and Hermione outside quietly. 

“Listen, Sirius has been stressing about this law. He’s within the age range, but the effects of the Veil aren’t quite clear. It seems that his body is biologically younger, and there’s no trace of Azkaban or the torture he went through when he was younger. How will the Unspeakables view him?” 

Hermione looked at Percy uneasily before turning back to Harry. 

“I can’t speak for how the Unspeakables handling this law will, I can only give an educated guess.” She said gently. Percy and Arthur nodded at her words. 

“Quite right. I recall helping Black reverse his legal status as deceased, and I do believe we also requested that his age not be per linear progression but instead placed at 32? 33, maybe?” Percy murmured. 

“In any case,” Arthur jumped in, “The ministry is aware of Black’s returned existence. Kingsley is heavily against any favours right now given how tenuously the law is being accepted, so I think Sirius will likely have to be married along with the rest of us.”

Harry shrugged sadly. “I figured as much, but thought I’d better check anyway, thanks though.”

Percy sniffed and went back inside as Arthur followed. The evening had come, twilight falling slowly across the sky. If not for the uncertainty of the future it would have been a perfect summer evening. Harry put his arm around Hermione. 

“It’ll be alright you know,” he said into her hair. Hermione nodded, sighing. 

“I didn’t want to be married, certainly not so soon, and I don’t want kids. I’m scarred from the War inside and out, children don’t need to see that,” she whispered. It had been a long two years since she and Harry had been on the run and since then he had Ginny. They didn’t need to comfort each other anymore. Yet here they were anyway.

“Any word from your parents?” Harry asked, changing the subject.

“No,” Hermione sighed. “None at all. If it were to wear off, it would have done so by now. They’re well and truly gone.” Harry frowned at that. 

“I know they’re your parents, but don’t think that means you’ll be alone in all of this,” he said fiercely. “You’ll always have me, and the others. And you know Sirius would take you in if I asked him too.”

“I know…”

They sat there as twilight faded into night and the first stars gleamed overhead. When Ginny came to find her intended, she found the two of them sitting on the steps side by side and understood. Some bonds once forged don’t fade away.


	2. Chapter 2

As Hermione didn’t have anyone to marry, she had a lock of hair returned to the Ministry before her morning cuppa was done. At work, her usually private coworkers were sharing whispers and glances all day long. By the lunch hour, it seemed there was more talk, more coming and going to her section and the now-renowned Love section, than ever had been in the past. Not even Black’s return from the beyond garnered this much attention. 

Curious as to what the current say was, Hermione wandered to some friendlier looking Unspeakables. 

“Alright I give,” she said genially. “What’s our popular neighbours take with this law?”

“You mean those romantics next door coordinating all this?” Nott snorted. “They’ve got their specimens, and the door has been firmly shut and warded all morning.”

“They’re only letting in the owls from the eaves above,” Chang nodded at the high ceiling where wings could be distantly made out sweeping to and fro. Hermione expected as much. Unspeakables from any section all reacted the same under duress: lock the doors and tell people to come back later.

“And what have the two of you heard about their matchmaking skills? Any insight?” Hermione asked carefully. She tried to school her expression into one of disinterest but struggled mightily. Chang shook her head.

“I work on the other side of the hall from them, and our sections haven’t coordinated once to my knowledge.” After a second she added “I work in the Creatures section. If it’s magical, sentient, and not human it’s ours.”

“Then you really wouldn’t know about the love section would you?” Nott said dryly. “I’ve worked with them before, and had a glimpse at what they’re trying to do. I work in Arcana: blood magics, old ways, unusual focals or familiars, it’s all ours. We helped them reconstruct these spells when they first unearthed them.” Nott sat straight, long fingers toying with his wand deceptively at ease. Hermione hadn’t known the boy in school, just that he was a Slytherin, but as they coincided around the department occasionally she got the distinct impression he knew quite a bit about dark and shrouded old ways, even if he was too  _ refined _ to ever practice them.

“Will the rituals work as they say then?” Cho asked eagerly. Nott shrugged.

“Sure they will, though the price is unknown. Earlier government didn’t seem to want to leave record of their secrets it seems.” 

“You’ll be subjecting yourself to them like the rest of us, don’t try and play otherwise,” Hermione said rather shrewdly. Nott turned to her carelessly.

“Will I? I don’t think so. I’ve been in negotiations with the Greengrass family for one of their daughters. We don’t aim for anything as bourgeois as happiness, it’ll be a practical arrangement.” He sniffed. Hermione and Cho Chang looked at each other with wide eyes. No response seemed to come to her for several minutes, and by then it was time to return to work. 

The day was almost done before Hermione remembered she did in fact need something from the Love section. Knocking on their door didn’t seem to elicit any response though, so she waved a missive towards the eaves with a flick of her wand. After a lengthy pause the door creaked open ever so slightly and Hermione walked in. 

Unspeakables were bent over at their stations, some hurried back and forth, the air full of a low hum of discordant chanting. Someone finally saw her and waved her to their station. 

“If you’re here to curry favour towards faster results or better standing names I can’t do anything for you.” The hooded Unspeakable snapped. 

“No no, not at all...” Hermione trailed off. The heightened fervor around her led to many curiosities she couldn’t look away from. The Unspeakable cleared his throat shortly. Hermione gathered her wits about her with a huff.

“I am aware of the demands the law has placed upon your section, however I still require research pertaining to Amortentia and any records on Amortentia induced pregnancies and births. In addition there will still need to be scheduled trials on Amortentia and volunteers.”

The Unspeakable stood before her a long minute, face hidden under the hood. Technically, Hermione was supposed to wear her hood up too, but it had been a long day and her hair kept frizzing outwards until the hood couldn’t keep it in anymore. 

“Our records and research are yours to peruse. You are aware of the legal ramifications of impeding any open investigations?” 

Hermione nodded.

“I’ll send a note when I require expertise, thank you.” She turned to go, then hesitated. The Unspeakable hadn’t moved away yet, clearly standing between her and the rest of the sections current work.

“Could you at least tell me about how long until I can expect my letter?” She asked quietly. The Unspeakable stood there.

“One week.”

Hermione thanked them and left to do her work. 

Dinner was at Grimmauld that night. Hermione debated going, eventually settling on needing the distraction more than sitting at home counting the days. At the table, she found herself seated by the twins again, with Ginny, Harry, and Sirius across from her. 

“I couldn’t ‘curry any favours’ with the Unspeakables in charge of this mess,” She stated to the as yet single men around her, “But I  _ was _ able to ask when to expect a letter of names.”

Beside her Fred jostled her right side,and George poked at her left.

“Can’t leave us there Granger-”

“Yeah when’s our fate set for?” They asked her. Sirius Black did not join in the questioning, though he waited for her answer with a raised eyebrow.

“A week.”

“A week?!” The twins said in unison. Hermione continued eating her food. 

“Well that’s good then isn’t it? Not too long to wait,” Harry didn’t finish his sentence at their expressions. Sirius shook his head distractedly. 

“Not exactly quick results though. Why will it be so long?” he asked Hermione. 

“My guess? They need to confirm matches. It may take a short time to perform the ritual for my hair, or any of yours, but they have to work through the entire population to be sure that everyone is matched at the same time and gets similar names. Wouldn’t do to tell me I get one of you, only for your letter to say you match with Madam Rosmerta. But that's my guess,” she reiterated. Sirius hummed thoughtfully, fixing her with a piercing stare. 

“And are you prepared for the likelihood of being matched to one of us in this room?” He spoke in a low tone, deep voice almost vibrating through Hermione. She shivered.

“Absolutely not prepared at all.” Was she blushing? “I can’t reconcile the thought of having to have kids, there’s no way I’ve gotten around to who those kids will be with.”

Fred scoffed at that. 

“Don’t follow you on that one Granger, George and I can only hope we are someday outnumbered by little brats.”

“We do tend to be prolific,” George agreed with a soft smile at the thought. Sirius remained fixed on Hermione’s drawn brows and how she had begun to pull herself inwards at the turn the conversation took. 

“I wouldn’t stress too much love, maybe they’ll match you with someone rich enough to afford nannies,” he winked at her with a smug smile that Hermione knew was mostly for her benefit. It worked however, she laughed off the maudlin thoughts and changed the subject. 

“Anyone for a round of cards after dinner?”

Though the crowds often retired to the library for drinks and games and conversation after dinner, there were plenty of rows of shelved books for Hermione to maintain privacy in moments of stress. It was thus that she was found curled in a small alcove reading furiously by Sirius. She didn’t hear him approach and if he took care to step lightly, well, who would tattle on him? Gently he pulled the book from her hands and set it aside, ignoring her protests.

“It won’t do to dwell on their magics,” he said softly. “Trust that any issues were worked out centuries ago, and enjoy the time you have before things change.”

“Mmm, speaking from experience?” she teased, smile not quite more than surface deep. 

“I spent 12 years in a cell reliving memories of times I didn’t appreciate what I had,” he impressed on her without any hint of his usual lightheartedness. He held a hand out to her, pulling her up. “Let’s go play some games.”

Hermione would never admit that he was right to stop her fixating. She was a tad too proud for that. But if she made sure Sirius could see her smiling when the gobstones squirted George all over, or hear her laughter as Harry recounted some of their more ridiculous adventures, that was just so he knew his efforts didn’t go to waste.

It was a hard feat, enjoying the rest of the week without wondering who might be her husband. But Hermione wasn’t one to shy away from difficult tasks and besides, Sirius often delivered a well timed joke or prank when the mood started to dampen. Once he even offered to braid her hair.

“It’s relaxing!” he’d insisted. “Nobody dislikes having their hair braided!” to laughter from those around him. Hermione steadfastly declined, though a small smile got around her dismissive expression. 

“Aww come on Hermione, let’s see if Black even knows how to braid hair!” Ginny had wheedled. The twins weren’t even paying attention, too busy placing trading gold at the prospective event. Hermione shook her head again. She started to walk away, but magic swept her down to the ground so she was sitting with her back to the front of the couch in between Sirius’s legs. 

“Now really!” she protested.

“Ah ah ah, don’t move too much or I might make your hair worse than it already is,” Sirius warned. Ron snickered. 

“Come on ‘mione, when’s the last time someone properly managed your hair?”

“Has to have been the Yule Ball eh Gred?”

“Seems you’re right about that one Forge.”

It took far longer than anticipated for Sirius to finish. More than once he swore and had to restart when his hands got full.

“No offense but if I knew you had this much hair I wouldn’t have offered,” he grunted once. Hermione just laughed. So maybe he was right, it really was relaxing. The jokes about her hair were (mostly) good natured, and it felt nice. But Sirius didn’t need to know that. He was too much of a flirt without any encouragement. By the time he was almost done, having slowed his pace considerably, the crowd around them had left for better entertainment. Tying off the braid, Sirius kept a hold on the end and pulled Hermione’s head to the side. Lips brushing her ear ever so slightly he whispered, 

“Good girl,” and released her. He stepped around her in one motion and was gone the next. Somewhere, a clock chimed 11. 

“Merlin is that the hour?” Someone said from the cards table. Noises rose up as people shifted and began to head to the doorstep or fireplace, each longing for their bed. Hermione floo’d to her apartment automatically. Sleep came quickly, and it was only when she woke in the morning that she realised she’d left her hair braided.

Finally,  _ finally _ , the anticipated day dawned. The 7th was a Friday, and still Hermione’s work week, so she dressed herself with shaking hands, poured herself some tea, and left for work before finishing it. Trials for the Amortentia research were still in the approval stages so she instead worked her way through what resources the Love section had for her. It was a long day. 

A knock sounded on her desk, causing her to look up. Another Unspeakable stood in front of her desk.

“Unspeakable Granger. Your results, if you’d like them now.” The figure held out a gloved hand with a scroll of neatly tied parchment. Hermione’s eyes widened. Under her hood she could feel the blood drain from her face. 

“Thank you. I appreciate your handing it to me personally.” She couldn’t feel the parchment through her own gloves, but her senses seemed to flair at the roll of fate in front of her anyway. The Unspeakable hesitated a second, as if waiting for her to read it. Hermione unfurled the paper. 

_ Unspeakable Hermione Jean Granger: _

__ _ Your sample has been tested thoroughly and with great caution for accuracy. Our findings indicate several compatible wizards for your choosing as follows; _

_ ~Sirius Black, 32, of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black _

_ ~ Messrs. Frederick and George Weasley, 22, of the House of Weasley _

_ ~Theodore Nott, 20, of the Knowledgeable House of Nott _

_ Your wizards are listed in order of most to least compatible. If no response is returned within three (3) business days you will be marked as consenting to any compatible wizard listed above, pending their agreement. Thank you for your cooperation, _

_ Unspeakable Ganning _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may seem like a Soulmate AU or Bonded AU but it's not. Close, but no cigar.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione stared at her matches. From somewhere in the deep of the Department of Mysteries, a gong sounded the lunch hour. _ Are you prepared to be matched to anyone in this room _ ? Black had asked. He must have known somehow. He did say she might be paired with someone rich enough for nannies after all, and Hermione had two such matches. Three, if the twins combined their profitable shop income with Hermione’s salary and didn’t fulfill the requirement of four children. 

Hermione shook her head. Grabbing a piece of parchment, she neatly wrote a response to Unspeakable Ganning before hesitating. What if she declined one of her choices only to not be chosen by anyone herself? Would it really be so bad to be married to Nott? He certainly understood duty and responsibility, even if his outlook was rather grim. 

In the end, Hermione chose not to respond. She had three days, she could always inform Ganning of her choices after sleeping on it. It didn’t make the rest of her work day go by any faster when she received a letter from Harry asking she come by straight after work.

_ Hermione; _

_ Dinner at Grimmauld’s. Phoenix meeting after. _

_ Harry _

_ P.S What were your matches? _

The floo flared green and spit out Unspeakable Granger into a roaring mess. The townhome’s kitchen was full to bursting with people tense and nervous. Some argued, some celebrated, all were spirited. When Kinglsey saw the black hood of the Unspeakables, he pointed his wand in the air.

“Silence, please, everyone,” he boomed. “We can begin. Has anyone received unfavorable matches?”

Did Nott count as unfavorable? Probably, in their eyes. Aurors had threatened to raid his home of dark content like the Malfoys unless artefacts were turned over from both his home and vaults. Nott Sr was a high ranking Death Eater until he passed away in prison, but Hermione didn’t think her coworker had taken the dark mark himself. None of the former death eaters were allowed to, after Rookwood infiltrated the Department so easily. Even so, Hermione chose not to raise her hand. 

From the rest of the people there were clearly some who hesitated, but no one brought issue with their matches. Hermione looked to the twins and Black discreetly. None of them looked particularly upset. But then, she couldn’t be sure. Maybe they had others they were set on. It was unsettling to realise she may be a last case option for someone, however little they knew her.

“Right then, if no one has anyone unfavorable, then let’s move on. Anyone who chooses to marry a non-Order member must take a Vow to not disclose the Order without at least one year of waiting, and approval of a senior Order member.”

Hermione tuned Kingsley out. She was pressed against a wall, and the door to the hallway was cracked open to her left. Ever so carefully she inched sideways until she slipped out, then moved beyond to the library upstairs. There wasn’t much need for a meeting tonight, in truth, but many were uncertain and scared. Words of calm from the Minister in his deep bass were what tonight was about. But that wasn’t what Hermione needed. And this time, Sirius wasn’t about to stop her reading on the enchantments.

Time, a fluid concept, escaped Hermione. She eyed indexes and tables of content and book titles looking for anything of promise. 

“You won’t find what you’re looking for,” a voice spoke in the darkness behind her. Hermione whirled around, her hood falling to her shoulders. Sirius leaned against a bookshelf, hands in his pockets as casual as could be.

“Here I thought the Black library was all-encompassing.” She said carefully.

“Oh it is,”’ Sirius smiled, “however it isn’t here. I removed them,” he explained. Hermione frowned at him and slowly shut the book she had been looking through. Sirius walked towards her and began to reshelve discarded books in the alcove. 

For some minutes neither spoke. Hermione waited, Sirius shelved. Occasionally, he hummed at a book title.

“The magic is done, the law is passed. Time has run out, Hermione.” Sirius said finally. His tone was gentle, but there was no room for argument. 

“I’m not trying to avoid this.” she said. “I just want to understand why I was matched with who I was matched. You were subjected to the same spells, surely you understand?”

There weren’t any more books to reshelve, so Sirius was left facing the Unspeakable in his alcove. The lamp’s fire reflected on her face, twisting and pulling shadows. 

“I would, if I considered myself subjected to them.” he said. “But I don’t. Anyone here had the chance to leave Wizarding Britain for the continent or across the ocean. I chose to consent to the law. They’re nearly soulmate spells, that’s a hard chance to pass up.”

“So, what, you just accept whatever’s written on the paper?” Hermione demanded. “Even if it’s some hag like Rita Skeeter? That doesn’t sound like the Sirius I know.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. Merlin was she always this difficult?

“I wouldn’t know, I didn’t get a hag as one of my options,” he snipped at her. Merlin be damned, he would not be the one to admit that they were compatible. Hermione, for her part, was relieved he didn’t consider her a hag, before she shook herself. What nonsense. Maybe she wasn’t on his papers, or there was someone else more his age.

Hermione huffed and pulled her feet up into the alcove seat, hugging her legs. Sirius stood awkwardly, unsure of himself. He had an easy time with birds, but it was a bit different with the Ministry ordained compatibility in the back of his mind.

Finally,  _ finally _ , Sirius nudged Hermione with his hand.

“Budge over, this is ridiculous.”

Hermione threw her hands up in annoyance, but moved over anyway.

“You’re the ridiculous one,” she muttered. Her voice trailed off when Sirius took her hair and began braiding it.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked suspiciously.

“I’m braiding your hair. Birds like their hair braided.” He answered.

“If this is a diversion it won’t work.”

“I know.”

Voices trickled up the stairs and into the library. Before long the doors were opened and the fireplace lit. Harry and Ginny were laughing about some joke the twins told, already pulling out a deck of cards while the others came into the room. The meeting was over, Kingley having calmed nerves plenty, and now it was time for drinks and games. Plenty of less active Order members were taking the opportunity to get to know each other, scout potential matches. 

Hermione, meanwhile, sat still as Sirius worked his way through the rest of her hair. He’d shifted them at some point so she faced the wall while he sat himself properly in the alcove rather than half on, half off. His long legs bent around around hers. Eventually she registered the presence of others in the library. Slowly, she turned to the man behind her. 

“Sirius!” she whispered, “We can’t let them know we’re back here!”

Sirius leaned into her.

“And why’s that?” he whispered against the shell of her ear. Hermione’s eyes widened slightly. 

“Because it wouldn’t look decent!” She whispered, scandalised. Sirius didn’t respond. Behind her, Hermione felt him resume braiding her hair. 

“I’d hate for them to notice our absence,” he whispered into her hair as he tied off the braid. Hermione turned to him, but he’d already stood and walked away.

“Sirius!” she beseeched him quietly. He stopped just shy of stepping out from their back row of shelves to wink at her.

“Harry!” he called. “ Count me in for the next round!”

Hermione groaned. The man was impossible. Just impossible. She wordlessly disillusioned herself and walked behind Sirius until he reached the fireplace, surrounded as it was by chairs and tables and couches for studying and games. Nimbly she stepped out into the hallway of Grimmauld.

It wasn’t until Hermione reached the floo downstairs that she removed her disillusionment.

She woke with the braid still in her hair again. 

Saturday was a work day like any other. With the hardest part behind them, the Love section was more cooperative with Hermione’s studies on Amortentia. They at least gave her enough material to distract her for the rest of the day. It was far harder gathering the supplies and research to last her weekend until work on Tuesday. 

Thus, as afternoon passed into evening, Hermione was bent over tomes and scrolls furiously taking notes. Behind her, a cauldron simmered.

“Granger.”

Hermione looked up. 

“How may I help you Unspeakable…?” 

The lanky man in front her didn’t move, though his hood gently fluttered to his shoulders.

“I happened across some duplicate parchments of the rituals used, if you’d like to see them.” Nott murmured. “Perhaps it will ease your mind, if you decide not to remove my name from consideration.”

He waved his hand minutely, then vanished as quietly as he’d appeared. Hermione stared. In front of her, sure enough, were papers depicting the rituals she had glimpsed in the Love section. 

Hermione disguised the papers then tucked them into her bag. The clock read 16:51. Close enough to quitting time she gathered her items and wandered to the Creature section. 

“I’m looking for Unspeakable Chang,” she said to a hooded figure. They nodded and walked away only to return a moment later with another hooded figure. 

“Unspeakable Chang?” Hermione asked.

“Granger?” Chang swung off her hood with a smile. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Hermione laughed. “Only answer some gossip. Nott said he was marrying a Greengrass, but his name turned up in my matches and he gave me an offering in case I decided to consider him. Did the Greengrasses back out of their arrangement?”

Chang raised an eyebrow at Hermione’s words, but she didn’t comment other than to consider the question. 

“I don’t think they backed out, but if they did it wouldn’t have been public. That’s quite a rude thing to do. No, more likely he’s realised that you would do more for his name and public status than a Greengrass could. Blood purity isn’t looked on so highly right now, and the Notts fell almost as far as the Malfoys.”

Well, that made sense. Hermione thanked Chang, asking about her own matches. The young women chatted for a few minutes more, stopping at the gong of the end of the work day.

Back home, Hermione made herself tea and began to study. She put herself to bed at some time, only to start again Sunday morning anew. No news came of dinners or meetings the whole of the weekend. 

Monday morning, at an hour most disagreeable, Hermione woke to a bird tapping at her sill. She rubbed the sand from her eyes and passed a knut to the bird in exchange for it’s parchment. 

_ Unspeakable Hermione Jean Granger; _

_ We are pleased to write your success in matching with Sirius Orion Black, 32, of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. A Ministry Official will meet with you and your match to schedule appointments at St Mungo’s, an inspection of your intended home, and a wedding date. Please be prepared with home ownership documents, a calendar if needed, and current financial statements. _

_ Enclosed you will find an engagement ring. It is to be worn unless and until your intended provides a different ring pursuant to Ministry standards as stated: bearing charms on proof of marriage, proof of consummation, proof of regular intercourse, and anti-birth control charms. If you have any questions or need submit a substitute ring for inspection, please contact the Ministry of Magic. _

_ Unspeakable Ganning. _

Sleep fell to the back of Hermione’s mind as she registered the words on the page. Sirius Black matched with her.

It took all of 10 minutes for Hermione to dress, wash herself for the day, and floo to Grimmauld. 

She stepped into the kitchen and looked around. It was cool and dark. Somewhere, a clock chimed 07:30. Hermione’s plan of finding Sirius and forcing some sort of conversation dwindled away at the early hour. Maybe tea would be better?

Sirius wandered downstairs. He wasn’t too surprised Hermione hadn’t opposed him as a match. Harry told him once, how she had done the research to bring him back but didn’t do it. The boy had been angry, but Sirius wasn’t. He remembered no pain or unhappiness in the Veil. Just peace. It showed wisdom on her part, to know when to stay her hand. 

What did surprise him however, was seeing her in his kitchen cooking with the wireless on quietly. She had a pan of eggs going, as well as some toast, and occasionally sang with the radio when she recognised a line or two.

Hermione moved her eggs and toast to a plate, taking a sip of her tea. Carefully, as to not spill, she turned towards the table.

“Have any to spare?” A voice asked.

Hermione jerked up, eyes wide. Sirius stood in the doorway dressed in grey trousers for sleeping, with a smirk playing across his face.

“Sirius! I didn’t know you were awake-I, there’s not really-I haven’t-” she sputtered. “I would have made food if I’d known you were awake.” She said finally, sitting down. 

Sirius raised an eyebrow at that. He poured himself tea and sat across from her.

“You’re fine love, don’t worry about it. Just eat, we have a long day ahead of us. I requested our ministry official come by this afternoon at 1pm, if that’ll do, and then later we have some shopping that needs to be done.”

Hermione shook a little at how easily he seemed to take to the changes, but she finished her food. Sirius pulled out plans of Grimmauld and started to notate which rooms needed the most work done, with Hermione’s input. They were almost to the second floor when Harry and Ginny wandered into the kitchen. 

“Morning,” Harry yawned. Ginny rubbed her eyes seemingly without even opening them. 

“Harry, excellent. Come sit.” Sirius waved his hand at two seats that pulled themselves out. “I have here our battle plan.”

“Your what?” Ginny grumbled into her tea. She sat anyway. Harry stood, looking at Hermione sitting with Sirius.

“Hermione, not that I’m not glad you’re here, but what are you doing here?” he asked tiredly. Hermione hummed quietly, glancing at Sirius. Sirius pretended not to notice. 

“She’s here at my invite. Now come, we have our work set out for us.”

Harry didn’t question it any further, but his look to Hermione said enough. 

“As you can see, we’ve almost finished with the main floor. Unfortunately, this whole house is crawling with dark magic. No place for any sort of kids, not ours and not yours if you two choose to stay here. There’s a minimum of two more floors that need to be cleared to pass Ministry inspections.”

Ginny looked up at that. 

“No kids of yours?” Her eyes narrowed at Hermione and Sirius. “You two are matched, then?”

Hermione nodded, raising her left hand to show the Ministry ring.

“Huh. Didn’t see that coming,” Harry said, sipping his tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the user who let me know it was tagged as complete. There's more to come. I will do my best to update. From June 16-August 18 (give or take) I will have no computer or internet, so no way to update or write. From August-November 18 I will have schoolwork that may prohibit writing, I'll do my best.


	4. Chapter 4

Sirius was doing his wash, Ginny was taking a shower before she had her own Ministry appointment with Harry, and that left Hermione with the boy wonder himself disinfecting a spare bedroom everyone avoided.

Hermione, for her part, was casting for traces of dark magic then eradicating any sources as best as possible. Harry, on the other hand, was poking about and waving his wand as needed. He stepped into the hall for a moment, then returned. 

“Right...so you’re engaged to Sirius now.” He said slowly. 

“Mhm.” Hermione hummed distractedly.

“Are you alright with that?” He asked, turning to face her properly.

“Yes Harry, I’m fine.” Hermione sat on the edge of the bed warily. She looked at Harry. They’d grown in different ways, since the war. It was one thing to mature in hardship, another entirely to flourish in love. Ginny had been good for Harry. Excellent, even. She didn’t lie, didn’t tolerate well meant nonsense that Harry could be prone to. None of that changed that Hermione considered Harry her own brother. They had gone through Hell, the two of them, and came out the other side. What was marriage compared to that?

“What were your other matches? You never answered my letter,” Harry whined. The mood changed as Hermione laughed. 

“I matched with the twins, actually, and someone named Theodore Nott. A coworker of mine.”

“The twins?!” Harry gaped. Hermione snickered.

“Don’t you recall them saying triads aren’t seen as rude in the Wizarding World?” 

“No!” came the resounding response from Harry. “And I don’t care if they don’t see it as rude, it’s still...well, odd.” he finished lamely.

“In any case, I’m matched with Black, and not worried a bit about it.” Hermione said firmly. She jabbed at something oozing in the corner as if to prove her point. 

Up above, Ginny yelled for Harry to get to the floo. 

“Mione I think it best if you don’t tackle this room on your own,” Harry said as he moved to the doorway. “Wait for Sirius, or for us to return.”

Hermione heard the floo whisk them away. In another hour and a half she had her own appointment to contend with, and she still hadn’t broached the topic of their matching with Black. Before she could change her mind, Hermione was walking down to the washroom in the basement. 

In the light of the small window up at ground level, Sirius was moving lights to the dryer, blacks sorting themselves next to him. He hadn’t put a shirt on since breakfast and Hermione could see muscles stretch as he bent. He couldn’t possibly have any spare weight on him, and unlike his post-Azkaban gauntness, it looked to be all muscle even below the waistband.

Hermione couldn’t say what made her linger at the door. Sirius was admittedly a handsome man, and an atrocious flirt, but she really hardly knew the wizard. 

“Sirius?” She asked nervously, “Will you braid my hair?”

To his credit, he gave no notice of surprise, only to turn from folding his brights fresh out the dryer.

“Sure, if you come here.”

Hermione felt a twinge of anxiety at the expression on his face, but couldn’t place it. She walked over, only for him to pull himself up to sit on the cabinet counter for spare linens. Sirius spun her around and pulled so she stood between his legs, back to him. 

“Any reason for the request?” He asked nonchalantly, parting her hair into three sections.

Hermione shrugged.

“I don’t need it in the way while I’m dealing with whatever foul things are left here. Bit of a hazard, really.”

Sirius hummed at that. 

“Sure it isn’t because you realised how relaxing it is to let a proper wizard’s fingers do the work?”

Hermione didn’t respond to that. No need to give him the satisfaction of knowing he made her blush. 

“I don’t think we’ll be able to get the house to a passable inspection by 1pm, I hope you know that,” she said conversationally.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Sirius said lightly. “We don’t get inspected today, just schedule the inspection. And, you never know.” He pulled through a particularly nasty snarl in her hair with nary a sharp tug or pinch of pain. It was difficult not to wonder where Sirius had learned to handle handfuls of hair so skillfully, and Hermione said as much. 

“Oh most Blacks have hair like yours. Regulus and I were lucky not to, but Bellatrix...whew her hair was nearly as batshit as she was!” Sirius laughed. “Though, that only became clear in later years. My cousins were all girls and if we had any hope of playing wizards vs muggles with them, well, sacrifices were made.”

Hermione laughed at the thought. It was odd to think of Sirius as a young child running after his cousins. Odder still to think that they’d have their own kids running around playing wizards and undoing snarled hair. She shivered. Too uncomfortable as of yet to think about.

Lunch was just Hermione. Sirius was in the attic searching for his ‘Returned From The Dead’ Ministry papers as well as bank statements and proof of Grimmauld ownership. From somewhere, Sirius called Hermione to the formal parlour.

“It’s best if we host the Ministry official here. If they’re anywhere near traditional it’ll be enough to impress them, hopefully waive some more...rigid requirements. Have you ever studied pureblood etiquette?” Sirius asked. He seemed rather tense. Hermione looked about the room curiously. It looked to be regency era, with furniture still covered and drapes drawn.

“I have, though not in depth. Enough to greet someone and then let others do the talking,” she said, mouth twisting sourly at the words.

“That’ll do for today,” Sirius said. He opened the drapes with a sweep of his wand, banished the furniture coverings with another. Hermione set about dusting the room. 

“Kreacher!” Sirius snapped. 

Crack! Large bat ears shook the small elfas he appeared in front of Sirius.Hermione stood shocked. She hadn’t seen Sirius call Kreacher once since his return. The wizard had preferred to learn to wash his own laundry and do his own cooking rather than speak to the elf again. No amount of “Kreacher’s changed” statements or stories had changed his mind either. Wherever the elf was, Sirius reasoned they were both happier without the other.

Until now.

“Could you...please...make us a tea service?” Sirius asked, voice stilted.

Kreacher stood stock still. Slowly, he turned to look at Hermione.

“Mistress is wanting tea? Master Black is wanting tea for Mistress Granger to be Mistress Black?” 

“That’s right Kreacher,” Hermione said. Her eyes wide, she nodded at the elf. Nothing other than the knowledge he loved to serve allowed her to go against her firm beliefs.

Kreacher grinned and disapparated.

Sirius shook his head unhappily, but didn’t say anything. Elsewhere, a clock chimed 1pm.

They moved to one of the newly uncovered couches and sat stiffly. 

“I’ve moved the floo connection to this room for now, it’ll move back later,” Sirius said distractedly.

Hermione didn’t respond. Simultaneously the fire roared to life emerald green as Kreacher pushed the tea service into the room.

“Tea is served, Master and Mistress.” He bowed out of the room without acknowledging the Ministry official shaking dust off her uniform. As if taking Kreacher’s lead, Sirius ignored the ministry official and served Hermione tea.

“Cream or sugar, Miss Granger?” he asked politely.

“Light cream, light sugar please,” Hermione murmured. She fixed her eyes on the teacup Sirius offered her and only looked up when he had fixed himself a cup of tea. 

“Please, take a seat,” Sirius gestured to the settee across from them as if he weren’t discussing his arranged marriage with the government. “Help yourself to some tea. My elf is exceptional at brewing finer blends. They need a light touch you know.”

The official busied himself with a cup, setting his papers aside momentarily. Sirius took the moment and pressed his advantage, smoothly waving forward a stack of papers.

“You’ll find everything is in order, as requested. My latest vault statements, proof of ownership, list of properties, as well as my certificate of well being after death.” 

The official nodded, sipping his tea.

“Excellent, excellent. Well, it sounds as if everything is being handled already Lord Black. The only matter left is mere scheduling, then. And of course, I have some information I must read off along with your signatures.”

Hermione watched the men talk. Odd how witches gave up their power and place willingly, she thought. Magic, unlike human strength, didn’t lend any biological advantage to a certain sex. There was no guarantee you would be more or less powerful from any physical point other than having good genes. No denying that certain families seemed to breed raw power, like the Blacks.

Beside her, Sirius was pulling out his calendar to schedule inspections.

“We really only need Grimmauld inspected as of right now,” He was saying. “My other properties require far too much work, they’ll need to wait. And as for my intended’s home, you’ll have to ask her.”

The official turned to Hermione expectantly. 

“Will we be scheduling a time to inspect the Granger residence as well?”

“No, I don’t think we will. The Black family is in dire need of an image change, it wouldn’t do for us to appear to settle for any sort of suburban home.” Hermione sniffed haughtily. Inside, she retched. Did anyone really subscribe to this sort of thinking?

Evidently the official did, as he preened at her words and made a notation.

“Good, good hear. Sometimes muggleborns can be so resistant to wizarding culture, it’s refreshing to hear such a public figure embrace our customs and beliefs.”

He didn’t notice the glare Hermione shot him, or the look she shared with Sirius.

“Let’s see now, today is Monday the 10th. How does Monday, 17 July at 10am sound? It’s one week from today, any refurbishers ought to have plenty of time.” 

“That will suffice,” Sirius said in a rather bored tone. 

The official didn’t notice.

“Lovely! Now, both of you are required to have a checkup with the healers by then, will that be manageable?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, as if to chastise the man for daring to question his scheduling abilities. 

“We have private healers attend us at home. I will make sure any required forms are signed and filled out by Monday.”

Sirius stood, setting down his teacup. He offered a hand to Hermione, gracefully pulling her to stand by his side before casting floo powder in the fireplace.

“Oh, one more thing,” he added as the Ministry official stood at the unspoken dismissal, “I’ll need you to bring me the forms to have Black rings approved by the Ministry. We do not wear government issued filth such as this,” he said distastefully, holding his hand out fingers splayed slightly. 

“O-of co-course Lord Black. I’ll make a note of it!” The official scurried into the the flames before they died away without looking back.

Hermione slumped against the couch.

“Was all that really necessary?” She asked tiredly. 

Sirius turned to her, face still set in hard lines that began to soften.

“The Ministry is accustomed to being run behind the scenes by the Lords and Ladies of Wizarding Britain. Augusta Longbottom is out there now terrorising some official into agreeing to whatever that grandson of hers wants. Even the Malfoys, fallen from grace, are demanding specialties. To not maintain that appearance would do more to harm us. Hell, I even summoned that blasted elf for the pomp and circumstance. Please lock the door on your way out,” and with that he wandered off.

Hermione returned home for dinner without telling Sirius. Somehow, she felt that she should have found wherever he hid himself. Harry and Ginny hadn’t returned by the time they left. Likely on a date before their wedding.

Sirius sent along a note while Hermione cooked herself dinner and worked her way through a bottle of wine. Healers would be at Grimmauld on Wednesday at 4pm. That was fine, it was easier to leave work early than to manage something in the middle of the day.

Hermione strained the noodles and mixed them into her bowl along with spices, chopped tomatoes, and balsamic vinegar. 

Wordlessly, the bowl, silverware, and bottle of wine followed her into the living room where Nott’s rituals were still spread out.

Long into the night Hermione studied. History after history, law after repealed law on various enactments of the law, and notes from master sorcerers and even the occasional Supreme Mugwump on ritualistic diagrams and chants. 

By morning she was no closer to understanding how the magic worked or why it had matched her with Sirius Black.

No, scratch that, she knew why it matched her with Black. They apparently had compatible magic. But how is  _ that _ defined? Damn magic and it’s fluid, undefinable nature at times. But now, there were more important things. Hermione dragged herself up from the couch and dressed for work.

Sirius was not impressed. It was rather hard to impress him in general, but this was really subpar. The bedroom he found was a disaster.

“Fucking Molly Weasley,” he cursed under his breath. The woman harped on her mothering abilities to no end, put up her endless children in his home, and didn’t even know how to properly clean up after her children or remove dark magic from residences. 

Of course, the woman’s family was so far to the light that he couldn’t really be surprised. 

“Kreacher, I need an appointment with Marilyn,” he said distractedly.

Kreacher cracked into the room at his Master’s voice.

“With Marilyn, Master? I is needing access to the calendar to do this.”

Sirius nodded without paying attention, too busy peering around the drapes. He jumped back swearing loudly. Hadn’t they dealt with the doxie infestation some years ago? 

“Kreacher, just have Marilyn bring her team as soon as she can. And maybe bring some essence of dittany.” He backed out of the room warily, suckig his thumb. Bloody menace, the house and that woman.

Kreacher stood waiting at the floo with a duster on his arm. When the woman came through he made sure she dusted herself off before leading her to Master.

“Master, I is bringing Marylin to you,” he croaked.

Sirius, in the middle of hanging some still damp boxers up, was mildly irked. 

“That’s lovely, Kreacher. Why don’t you take Madame Marilyn up for tea, and I’ll join in a moment. Maybe bring her the plans of Grimmauld too.”

Kreacher slouched off with the bemused woman in tow.

Boxers safely drying, Sirius went in search of his elf and the witch. Kreacher had put her up in the informal parlour and moved the refreshed tea service down. Magical blueprints lay out on a magically enlargened sidetable.

“Marilyn,” Sirius greeted her.

“Lord Black, I’m honoured you called me for this endeavour of yours. Grimmauld is a worthy opponent.” She said wryly. Sirius had to concede that much. 

“If you aren’t busy being scheduled by others, our inspection is next Monday, the 17th. Can you get things done by then?”

Marily looked over the plans. She made some notes, then turned back to Sirius.

“I won’t insult you by asking if price is prohibitive. We can certainly have these done by then.”

Sirius expected as much. He signed the paper she conjured, shook her hand, and escorted her to the floo.

One more item crossed off the list of things needing to be done by 15 August, or whenever Hermione set their wedding date to.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione hadn’t heard anything from Sirius since his note about the healers. Not that she was expecting to. What exactly was the protocol for your government approved intended? Regardless, she signed out of work early Wednesday afternoon and flooed home to change for popping off to Grimmauld.

Much to her surprise, the townhome wasn’t in its usual state of whispering wilted depression, but rather had large swaths of sunlight cutting through the darkness as witches bustled to and fro snapping out charms, cleaning supplies following in their wake.

Hermione stood on the doorstep rather in shock for a minute or two before Sirius stumbled upon her.

“Hope you don’t mind? They’re the best at cleaning up old properties. Even have black magic disposal wizards they send off to when needed.”

At Hermione’s lack of response Sirius began to grow rather nervous. Should he have notified her of the bill for approval? Maybe she had another project manager she preferred?

“You should meet with Marilyn anyway,” he continued. “Once they strip the house she’ll want a witch’s opinion on the details. Paint swatches, furniture stains, that sort of thing.”

Hermione nodded quietly. 

“Right...I think we need to find our healers before they get lost in the madness.” She said. Sirius took that as her cue to change the topic and jumped on it.

“Healers will be right in the library. I’ve moved the floo again, they’ll be here any-”

Flames leapt in the fireplace at Sirius’ words.

“-moment.” He finished, standing to greet the two healers. “Welcome. The library is plenty private enough for your examinations. Please make them quick, I have other matters to attend to.” Sirius said, ever Lord of the Manor.

One of the healers nodded at his words. She waved Hermione into the stacks of books leaving Sirius alone with the male healer.

“Hermione Granger, correct?”

“Yes.”

The healer had conjured a cot for Hermione to sit on and cast a diagnostics charm over her. Lights swirled around Hermione with the occasional angry streak of dark purple. A light layer of red floated at the back in a pulsing beat.

“I’m Healer Lyra.” The healer scribbled on her clipboard and occasionally poked at the colours around Hermione. Once she whispered a charm and the colours changed completely, contracting to focus around Hermione’s head.

“Interesting.” the Healer said. “Have you ever been checked into the Spell Damage ward? Ever been diagnosed with Dark aftershocks? Suffered cursed wounds?”

Hermione acknowledged the last question and lifted the sleeve of her jacket before raising her layers to bare her stomach. The healer placed a hand on her shoulder, gesturing for her to lay down.

“Can you recall the spell cast on your stomach?” She asked. Hermione shook her head.

“No, I silenced the caster. The effects were dampened because it was nonverbal.”

Healer Lyra made a note.

“Do you know who the caster was? We have identified some dark mages as having a sort of signature curse, much like You-Know-Who and his killing curse, or Harry Potter and Expelliarmus.”

Hermione shut her eyes to avoid remembering the event.

“Antonin Dolohov.”

Healer Lyra made a note.

“What about the scars on your arm?”

Hermione counted five things she could feel against her skin.Fluffy hair, cotton shirt, wire bra, silk robes, hard heels on her feet.

“Bellatrix Lestrange used a cursed knife. I don’t know about the curse specifically.”

Another note from the Healer. Hermione counted four things she could smell. Old books, faint fireplace, her shampoo and conditioner, the perfume she’d put behind her ears that morning.

“And what of these marks across your shoulder?”

Drat. Hermione had forgotten about those as she couldn’t see them.

“Fiendfyre, someone cast it in the great hall at the final battle.”

Three things she could hear. Scribbling quill on paper, heart beats that slowed with intentional breathing, the low murmur of Sirius with his healer at the other end of the library.

“Ms Granger, these marks across your stomach may very well lower or inhibit altogether your ability to get pregnant. Dolohov was well known to healers at St Mungos for using some Russian curses so that the average victim wouldn’t know how to counter it.”

Hermione opened her eyes. Only two things to see, Healer Lyra examining her scars, and the heartbeat diagnostic slowing ever so incrementally.

The Healer prodded at Hermione’s belly, turning it cool rather like muggle doctors with their jelly before an ultrasound. Bits of light played around her stomach, winking out and struggling to flash again. Healer Lyra made a note, then vanished everything surrounding Hermione.

“You aren’t completely infertile, Ms Granger, however there is significant difficulty. If you comply with Ministry copulation requirements and do not succeed within the timeframe, we can likely grant a writ of exemption, but you will need to demonstrate due effort until then. Of course, if your intended suffers a typical pureblood fate, or odd effects from the Veil, you may find yourself with a writ of exemption within the end of the week.”

One sense left. Hermione’s mouth was dry. 

The healer helped Hermione to her feet, and banished the cot while Hermione straightened her clothes. They walked back to the men in silence. Ahead, Hermione could see the men sitting by the fireplace chatting. At Healer Lyra’s arrival, the man stood and took her hand. They bowed to Hermione and Sirius before throwing the flames emerald and stepping out. 

Hermione stood at the arm of the couch where Sirius sat. There was no ringing in her ears, no pounding behind her eyes. Just silence. Sirius must have seen the quiet in her eyes. With one hand he reached over and pulled her down to sit between his legs. 

Black was nearly halfway through her hair before either of them spoke. When he did, it was soft and quiet.

“The healer doesn’t know if it’s the effect of pureblood inbreeding, or a price of the Veil, but he estimates my chances of children are quite low. I would need an exceptionally...gifted witch to have a proper chance.”

Hermione's eyes had been closed, relishing in the gentleness of hands running through her hair. Her eyes fluttered open at his voice not wanting open fully.

“Dolohov’s curse didn’t kill me, but it did harm my future offspring, or the decent chance at them,” she murmured. 

Sirius wasn’t even sure if she was fully awake, her head had lolled slightly, voice rather sleep drunk. Her words seem to settle on his shoulders like a caress far too light for the impact behind the words.

“Do you want children?” The words slipped out before he had a chance to stop it. He’d heard what she said a week ago at the advent of this whole mess. Had she meant it? Could he abide a wife predetermined to dislike her own children as Walburga had? But no, Hermione was nothing like Walburga.

“I carry ugly scars and an ugly word on my body. There are worse things inside of me that innocent children shouldn’t know of, or see in their parent.” Hermione said, staring ahead into the fire.

“How delightfully pessimistic,” Sirius said dryly. The mood shattered. Hermione drew herself up, head no longer resting against his knee. When Sirius tied off her braid she had walked out before he had any chance at all.

Kreacher was having a difficult week. He had been away servicing another long forgotten Black property, though this time actually cleaning away dust and cobwebs rather than whispering to portraits of long dead masters and mistresses. Then his least favourite master had called for him. It was nice that the Granger Missus was there and remembered him, and Master Sirius did seem less angry with Kreacher. 

But even so. Nothing could compare to  _ this _ . To the nastiness of  _ contractors  _ tromping through his beloved home destroying things he had worked hard to maintain since a young elf with firmer ears. At least Missus Granger was to be his Missus Black. He’d like that. But then she’d gotten sad and hidden herself away she did. Kreacher’s magic said she arrived in evenings and left late late late, but she his herself so Kreacher couldn’t see Missus. Her magic was crackly and hard to miss, but the Missus was easier to miss. When Master Sirius asked Kreacher to check on the Missus and he couldn’t it was a sad day to iron his ears. 

And the nasty hateful contractors  _ still  _ came, even with his shameful failure ears. They cleaned the house to the bones until it was no longer Kreacher’s home, then Master Sirius was  _ really  _ upset because Grimmauld must be made to Missus liking and it can’t be made to Missus liking if Missus won’t show what her liking is. 

Kreacher took the swabs of paint left from the hated contractors and gently placed them on the desk in the small study Granger Missus sometimes left her magic in. He hoped he wouldn’t need to iron his fingers too.

Hermione had taken to researching in one of the small side study rooms at Grimmauld. It was better equipped than her own home office, and though Hermione was ashamed to admit it, it was nice to have someone clean up after her when work was too tiring.

In an effort to avoid Sirius after the painfully awkward appointment with healers, she’d added the caution of disillusioning herself whilst at Grimmauld. Late on Saturday evening, after she’d gotten off work and taken to her study, Hermione shuffled her papers about. Slips gently fell to the floor resting by her foot.

Hermione frowned. They looked like paint slips left on her desk. Hm. Maybe Sirius knew she used the room but didn't want to disturb her. She leafed through the colour swatches. Some were alright. A couple just awful, wow. Who thought that had been in good taste? Hermione picked a nice set of neutrals with jewel toned accents and incinerated the rest of the slips.

Kreacher smiled. Missus was clever, yes she was. He delivered the slip to Master Sirius on a silver platter as any well trained house elf should, and enjoyed his safely unburnt fingers for the day.

When she returned at noon on Sunday, no longer disillusioned, the array of colours she’d chosen were being set into the house by Marilyn’s team of witches. Sirius sat at the kitchen table by the floo with a drink of what looked like firewhiskey. He’d poured a cup for her, fingers running along the rim of his cup impatiently. 

“Care for a drink?” He asked.

“I don’t really drink firewhiskey.” Hermione said stiffly. Sirius nodded at her words and threw his drink back, a practiced and fluid motion. After a moment, he looked at her. 

“I was a wanker on Wednesday. I’m sorry.”

Whatever Hermione expected, it wasn’t that. She walked to his chair carefully, steps hesitant. Instead of sitting at his feet as she’d started to grow comfortable doing, she stood behind him and took his long hair through her hands. Black and glittery, it ran through her fingers like water without leaving a trace. Nothing like her own hair and entirely foreign. With the muscle memory of years, Hermione began to braid. Sirius sat sipping the glass he’d poured for her, almost unable to help himself from rubbing against her hand like a puppy needing it’s ears scratched.

“Sirius stop it! Every time you do that your braid falls out and I have to start over!” Hermione smacked his head watching his fine hair slip through the plait once again.

“What a real shame love, don’t worry I think I can manage you trying again,” he smirked, already tilting his head back. 

Hermione snorted.

“I don’t think so. I forgive you being a jerk but we need to have a serious-”

She stopped. Sirius whipped around to look at her. 

“Hermione, I’m dead Sirius.” He deadpanned. “It’s funny because I was dead,” he said with a raised eyebrow when she didn’t laugh.

“Fine. We need to have a genuine, down to earth conversation about important topics.” She tried again. Sirius shrugged and took a swig of her firewhiskey.

“Suit yourself. What’re we discussing?”

Hermione’s courage nearly up and left her entirely when Sirius lounged against his chair, eyeing her with an unreadable expression.

“Di-did the Healer talk about..um, copulation requirements with you?” Her voice nearly shrank away to nothing by the end of her question. 

Sirius raised an eyebrow at her, but remained carefully lounged against the back two legs of his chair. 

“He did…” He said slowly. 

Merlin did she have to do everything around here?

“Well?” she snapped. “ My healer didn’t say what the requirements were, just that they were there and that we might get an exemption if we go five years without a pregnancy.”

Sirius didn’t move. 

“Once a week.” He took another drink. “Course, who knows. We may end up more frequent than that. You may even find yourself _ enjoying it. _ ” He leaned forward towards her, voice dropping. Hermione didn’t move. 

Sirius stood, abruptly. 

“Don’t forget the appointment on Monday love. Once we get our calendar straight, I’m bringing in Marilyn’s cousin for the wedding planning. I’m thinking we make it the society event of the year. Narcissa will be furious! And more importantly, Witch Weekly will know their most eligible bachelor is no longer a free man,” he winked at her and walked out the kitchen cheerily. 

Hermione withdrew to her study, though she took time to appreciate the drastic changes Grimmauld was undergoing. They’d enlarged the windows, making them nearly floor to ceiling. Creamy ivory now matched with light grey, geometric mirrors opposite the windows multiplied the light, and veins of dark jewelled tones threaded through the rooms in accents here and there without overwhelming. The place resembled a luxury hotel her dad had reserved for them in Paris once. Their suite seemed huge, never ending with some perfect mix of minimalist and traditional tastes. Now though, the luxury was her home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much appreciation to those who drop reviews. It's nice to know this story isn't just being cast out into the black void of the internet, unknown and unloved. Thanks, friends.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M is for Mature, not for Mom-approved.

Hermione found herself thankful their appointments thus far had mostly been on her day off. Nott had announced his match with one of the Greengrass in the society papers, like he said he would. But it still felt odd, and she didn’t relish flaunting her match with a House that technically outranked the Notts.

“You’re worrying about this entirely too much,” Chang told her over lunch on Tuesday. “Nott is a businessman through and through. He assessed his gain matched with you versus his gain matched to the Greengrasses, that’s it.”

“The whole notion of marriage for business is just foreign to me.” Hermione shook her head. “I don’t understand how people live their lives like that. Do you recall, he said the idea of marrying for happiness was ‘bourgeoise’?”

Chang laughed at Hermione’s disbelief. Muggleborns got culture shock over the strangest things.

“He’s upper class. They do that. The family name  _ is  _ their business. I’d ignore it. You’ve managed to get yourself one of the handsomest, and sanest, purebloods in Britain.”

Hermione hummed. They’d met with the wizard and given the results of their healer examinations, but hadn’t settled on a date to get married yet, which annoyed the wizard. Sirius had tried to convince Hermione to stay at Grimmauld several times, but Hermione refused. 

“It is traditional for women and men to stay in separate places until the wedding,” she kept insisting. In truth, Hermione loved her space and her flat and she was afraid to trade it for the unknown that was living with Sirius, Harry, and Ginny. Though, Harry and Ginny had plans to move out once they were married. Everyone around them was snatching up available dates before August 15th, and logically Hermione knew she should pick a date before one was picked for her, but Merlin the choice felt difficult. Finally, she settled on August 1st. Harry had picked July 31 so he could ‘give himself a bride as a present’, and most dates after were already picked by her friends. That left her with just over a week to acquaint herself with her fiance. 

In proper Hermione fashion, she chose to ignore her impending nuptials unless Marilyn’s cousin Mariam was at her flat planning the wedding. Work kept her busy enough, and when it didn’t she read through Nott’s papers. Unfortunately, she couldn’t make her work stretch out until August 1st. By Sunday the 23rd she’d read and reread everything she could. Worse, she was beginning to sit and wonder about her fiance. Hermione sighed before straightening her appearance up and apparating to Grimmauld. 

Sirius was in the kitchen cooking brunch. He hummed along to the Wizarding wireless and flipped his crepes. Was that the tea kettle whistling?

“Morning Sirius,” Hermione greeted cautiously. 

Sirius jumped slightly at her voice and the crepe slid dangerously off the pan. He hastily corrected it and turned towards her. 

“Morning love. Hungry? I have sausages, crepes, bloody marys...hmm. What do you like on your crepes?” He asked, moving over to another counter laden with jams, jellies, butter, sugar, ham, cheese, and who knew what else. 

Hermione shrugged. “Your choice, I’m not terribly hungry.” Sirius scoffed at that but threw some items on a crepe anyway. 

“So…” He said slowly. “If you weren’t planning anything later, I’ve got a couple things planned for us.” 

Hermione frowned at that. “How did you plan them? I only decided to come over about 10 minutes before I left?”

“That’s not important,” Sirius said lightly. “We’ll need to make a run to muggle London, is that an issue?”

Hermione shook her head, fixing Sirius with a stare. This hit all of her suspicious activity markers reserved for the twins and former Marauders. 

“Do I get a hint as to what we’re doing?” She asked. Sirius grinned and shook his head. He moved the crepe to a plate and sent it and some silverware floating towards the seat Hermione had taken at the table. A tall bloody mary followed shortly after the silverware, though Hermione did her best to ignore it. Finally, Sirius set his own place at the table and sat down. They ate in silence for a minute or two.

“Oh wow,” Hermione moaned. “This is actually good!” 

Sirius looked up at her with a frown. “Hey now, I  _ can  _ cook you know.”

“I do now,” Hermione said, smiling into her plate. After a moment, she looked at Sirius. “Can I ask you something personal?” 

“Sure,” Sirius said easily. “What can I do for you love?”

Hermione took a breath and plunged ahead. “Were you matched with anyone else?”

Sirius paused to eat his food before neatly folding his silverware on his plate. He leaned back on his chair and looked at Hermione properly. 

“No.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Do you know of anyone who did match with several people?” She asked curiously. 

“I know a couple of the sacred twenty eight scions matched with several people. Likely because they were the last of their line.”

“Hmm.” Hermione said quietly. “I matched with the twins as well. And Theodore Nott.”

She couldn’t say what compelled her to tell him that, just that it felt important in some way. Maybe dishonest if she didn’t. But it didn’t bother Sirius. By the contrary, he just laughed. 

“The twins? Ha! They wouldn’t know what to do with you anyway,” he smirked. 

Hermione blushed, twisting her hands in her lap. His words may have been more applicable to her, even if he didn’t know it. 

“Sirius?” she said in a quiet voice.

He dropped back onto all four legs of his chair. “Hermione?”

She wanted to ask about the wedding night, ask if it would hurt, but it was difficult to make the words come out. Sirius moved his chair away from the table when he saw her anxiety. With one hand he helped her stand and walked her upstairs to the library. 

“Incendio,” He murmured to the fireplace. Warm flames sprung up and lit the room with a glow that covered the nearby couches. In what was now vaguely familiar, he sat at the couch and pulled Hermione to sit in front of him. As he started on her hair, he waited. 

“Will it hurt? Our wedding night?” She finally asked. 

Sirius was thankful she couldn’t see his face or the way stress immediately played across his features. For some reason he’d assumed she’d already had experience in the topic and they wouldn’t need to worry about what goes where. Apparently not. Sirius let out a long sigh. 

“There are charms that can lessen pain, stop pain, ease...things…” his fingers dropped the braid and it sprang apart. Sirius gave up. “Why don’t you come up here, love? We can be on an equal ground for this sort of talk.” 

Hermione did not want to go up onto the couch. It was easier to talk about these things when she could look into the fire. She went up anyway.

Sirius pulled her against him with one arm and ran his fingers in lazy circles along her shoulder. 

“Don’t focus on what is happening,” he whispered. “Close your eyes, feel it.”

Her eyes had already drifted closed at his hand’s work. Sirius knelt his forehead in her hair. “Is it relaxing when I braid your hair? When you feel my fingers working? Do you enjoy my taking care of you?” He murmured without waiting for an answer. But Hermione gave one anyway, without meaning to.

“Yes sir,” she mumbled. Her eyes shot open at that and she began to stutter an apology. Sirius was surprised. It wasn’t usually this easy to train a witch. He went along with it and shushed her apologies smoothly.

“Don’t apologise. I don’t want to hear another apology from you today, do you understand?” his hand snaked its way into her hair, deceptively gentle. If Hermione understood the position they’d quickly ended up in, she only widened her eyes slightly.

“I understand.” She whispered. 

Sirius left it at that. No use scaring the poor girl before she was ready for it. He could enforce a title later. He returned to turning circles on the shoulder that his arm was around. When Hermione settled again, he turned so she rested against his chest properly and moved his other hand to run along her leg. Ever so slowly, he traced patterns on the inside of her leg up and down never passing an inch beyond the hem of her skirt. Hermione shivered involuntarily. Whatever Sirius was doing was nice. A mild discomfort was growing between her legs, but in an oddly delicious way. His hands had been too much at the beginning but Hermione was quickly finding them to not be enough anymore. She shifted uncomfortably. Sirius leaned his head against hers. 

“Problem, love? You seem uncomfortable,” he hummed into her ear. 

Hermione blushed, thankful he probably couldn’t see her face. “No!” she managed to squeak out. Sirius moved his hand from her shoulder to lightly caress the side of her throat. 

“No? Don’t you mean no sir?” He knew he was pushing it. But, nothing ventured nothing gained right?

“No sir,” Hermione whispered. The discomfort only seemed to grow as he stroked her neck, whispered in her ear, and Merlin forbid as she repeated the title back to him. He moved his thumb along her jawline slowly, fingers curling. Hermione couldn’t help herself, she shifted again. Sirius had his hand played across her neck before she’d finished the movement. 

“Hermione, darling, I don’t think I gave you permission to move. If you need something, then tell me.”

Nothing ventured nothing gained, he repeated to himself. If she let him do this then Merlin save him they wouldn’t ever need to worry about the copulation requirements. Sirius didn’t want to think about what would happen if she refused. 

Hermione, for her part, stilled immediately. The discomfort was almost all she could think about now, and the hand that played with the hem of her skirt seemed to be fire itself, igniting trails in its wake. She had to do something. 

“Sirius? I’d like to shift my legs, if that’s alright,” Hermione said quietly.

Sirius smiled to himself. She was ensnared. 

“Right now, you may refer to me as sir. So let’s try that again.” Was all he said, however. 

Hermione almost moaned in frustration. But she whispered, “May I shift my legs, sir?” 

Merlin above she hoped he couldn’t see the blush that burned alongside his fingers.

“You may,” Sirius answered coolly.

Hermione moved immediately, trying something, anything, to give relief. She leaned one leg against the back of the sofa and let the other leg fall away. Distance seemed to help, though she hoped Sirius didn’t think she was spreading her legs for him or some such nonsense.

Merlin help him, she was spreading her legs for him. Sirius shifted himself, trying to keep Hermione from realising what he was dealing with in case it scared her away. With her skirt now stretched between her legs, one knee up against the sofa and the other on the seat, the hem of her skirt had risen more than enough for Sirius to take care of her. He moved his hand from her neck back to her shoulder, this time dipping below her neckline along the sides of her chest ever so slightly. His other hand trailed a path, fingers dancing lightly across her leg ever upwards beyond her skirt. Hermione’s breath hitched when he traced the lower outline of the side of her knickers. His right hand slipped inside her bra once Sirius was certain she wasn’t complaining and he cupped her breast, rolling her hardened nipple and pinching it slightly between two fingers. 

Hermione’s head leaned back against his chest, eyes heavy lidded. The fireplace crackled quietly, but she was lost in the sensation. Without thinking, she rubbed her thighs together and groaned. Sirius’ hand flew up to her throat and he lightly pressed her chin upwards.

“Ms Granger, what did I tell you about asking permission to move?” She felt, more than heard, the deep tone ripple through her. 

“That I needed to ask permission first...sir,” she added hastily. Her eyes opened blearily. Sirius ran one finger down the centre of her knickers. His hand around her neck remained when she gasped and almost moved. 

“It would be wise to remember that,” He breathed. “Do you want this?” 

Hermione nodded quickly. “Yes sir! Please…” 

“Please? Please what?” Sirius ran his finger along the apex of her thigh agonisingly slow.

“Please keep going sir,” Hermione said, words tangling together. 

“Keep touching you? Where? Here?” He drummed his fingers along the pulse of her neck. “Here?” Moved his hand to cup her breast again, tweaking the nipple. “Or did you mean here?” His other hand moved to cup her underwear, index finger slipping underneath it to stroke her centre. Hermione struggled to stay still. 

“There,” she gasped out. “Please touch me down there sir.”

Sirius hummed and hooked his finger around the waistband, sliding it down her legs. Hermione arched slightly at the rush of cool air. Her eyes were nearly closed, the fireplace reflecting upon her in a way that made her look stunning to Sirius’ eye. He wanted nothing more than to devour her whole. But not this time. This time Hermione needed to see how the ways of a couple could be enjoyable. He ran his hand back up her leg and stroked the side of her center. Just as she groaned, he pushed a finger inside of her and appreciated the gasp she gave. 

“Mmmm, you’re quite wet for me,” He purred.

“Sirius!” she mumbled.

“I’m here love,” he said into her ear, kissing the sensitive spot just behind it. She moved into him, into his lips and into his hands, trying to gain friction. Sirius curled his finger inside of her and set to a pace. When she seemed sufficiently distracted, he slipped a second finger in and started working the bundle of nerves inside of her with a slow, consistent pace. He moved to kiss where her shoulder met her neck and sucked at it lightly. Within her shirt his other hand kneaded and moulded her breast. 

Hermione felt...everything. She felt everything and felt as if Sirius’ hands and mouth where everywhere, all over her body. Pressure points and sensitive spots she didn’t even know she had were being taken care of like magic. Unsure what to do with her own hands, Hermione reached back and wound them in Sirius hair. When he slipped a second finger into her, she gripped his hair tightly and pushed against his hand, desperate for more. The fire kept building and building inside of her, till spots danced and she couldn’t see straight. Hermione moaned into her arm, spilling words she didn’t entirely think about before saying.

“Please daddy!” Hermione ground against his hand hard as stars burst in her vision. The tension that had built seemed to snap like a band, then slowly recede. She slumped against Sirius.

Sirius pulled his hand from her once he felt her release. As Hermione turned toward him, he deliberately sucked on his fingers, enjoying her taste and the blush it stirred.

Slowly, the events filtered back to Hermione. She sat up. 

“Oh merlin...Sirius...I-I’m not s-sure what that was, please don’t-”

He held up a hand to stop her nervous chattering.

“Hermione, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. The wedding night won’t hurt if you can relax and trust like you just did.” He kissed her forehead gently.


	7. Chapter 7

“I’ll give you a moment to collect yourself, straighten up, whatever it is you ladies do, then we have an appointment in muggle London.” Sirius was saying. Hermione could hardly hear the words, she was too preoccupied with removing any traces of whatever it was they’d just done. Try as she might, her lingering embarrassment didn’t fade as she washed up.Nor did it fade when she resolutely changed into muggle jeans and a tee. In fact, Hermione was certain her face flared up when she met with Black in the entryway ten minutes later. 

Sirius, for his part, had thrown on muggle clothes that were a far cry from the bespoke pureblood suits and robes he usually wore. In fact, if Hermione didn’t know him already she would have gone back upstairs and warded the door. He looked much like the type of people her parents called ‘hooligans’: black skinny jeans, leather boots, some awful muggle band under a close fitting leather jacket, and a helmet under his arm and gloves in his back pocket. 

Sensing her hesitation, Sirius grinned and the odd feeling she’d had fell away. 

“Come on love, off we go,” he said lightly, pulling her hand out the door. Hermione felt his arm settle around her shoulder. In moments, the nasty feeling of apparition constricted her insides before they reappeared in an alley. Sirius was pulling her into the bustling street before Hermione fully righted herself. She stumbled a couple of times. 

Ahead, signs and lights announced the various shops on the street. Hermione wished she could wander through and take her time, but Sirius had other plans. He led her down the street towards Infinity Motorcycles. They nearly arrived, too, before Hermione realised what Sirius had planned.

“Ah, Sirius, absolutely not!” she protested. Sirius stopped, dropping her hand. He looked mildly dejected at her resistance, though the excitement hadn’t dimmed yet.

“Why not? It’s a perfectly reputable store, and they have all the best recommendations!” 

“You may think it clever to ride around on a deathtrap, but  _ I _ do  _ not _ !” Hermione folded her arms resolutely. 

“Just...at least come inside with me please?” Sirius wheedled.”You can look around, speak with the  _ experts _ , then decide if you really shan’t…” 

Sirius emphasised the existence of experts heavily, hoping his appeal to authority would work on the witch. Hermione, for her part, nearly smiled at the picture of a grown wizard in rather scary attire pleading with his fiancee for more toys. She relented. 

“Fine. But I am not riding the wretched thing.” 

Sirius strutted out of the shop, whistling a jaunty tune. Over his shoulder slung bags heavy with gear. Hermione had a scowl etched on her face but she followed Sirius. The shopkeeper had agreed to the modifications Sirius had asked for and promised the new motorbike would be delivered to Hermione’s flat. No muggle or wizard could find Grimmaulf without permission after all. 

It wasn’t until Sirius stopped in a cafe that he saw Hermione’s disgruntled expression. He ignored it. 

“Anything to eat or drink love?” Sirius asked lightly. 

“No, thank you,” Hermione muttered. Sirius shrugged and ordered two cups of tea anyway. After he’d found a small table outside for them, he turned his attention to Hermione fully. Sirius didn’t speak for a minute or two as he looked his fiancee over. She shifted uncomfortably under his stare. Finally, he spoke, voice smooth as silk and heavy with low timbre tones. 

“Look at me, Hermione. We’re to be married in what, two weeks? One week? Today was fun, certainly enlightening, but this arrangement will be easier if some things are sorted out.” 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed slightly. More than the rising stress, she suffered some morbid curiosity at his words and whatever implication lay there. 

“I’m listening…”She said cautiously. 

Sirius was quiet, apparently considering something. He abruptly switched tactics. 

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Hermione scoffed. “Is this what’s needed to make things work? My favourite colour? Really now, I thought you’d have something a bit better than that, honestly.”

Sirius smirked at her response, giving Hermione an old nasty feelling much like when she’d hand in a pop quiz only to realise there was something she’d missed. 

“No, love, it’s not your favourite colour that’s needed, it’s making the effort. You never knew them, I know, but Harry’s parents didn’t quite get along at Hogwarts. ‘Course, James was infatuated with Lily, but she couldn’t stand him. She was a feisty thing! And when she finally agreed to a date with him, they had an awkward time of it until they worked past whatever odd thing was going on before. So,  _ Hermione _ ,” he looked at her fully and tilted her chin up to face him. “Whatever agreement we settle on will need to work of its own accord.”

“What agreement we settle on?” Hermione echoed dumbly. She frowned. “Is this your way of expecting I treat this as a business deal? I’m no pureblood, I don’t make pureblood marriage choices!” She started hotly before Sirius shushed her. 

“No, no that’s not what I’m saying!”

Hermione leaned back in her chair and huffed. Sirius, for his part, was confused. He was trying to be open and honest and gentlemanly. Isn’t that what birds liked? Where was this going sideways?

“Hermione,” he tried again. “I’m not suggesting anything at all. I only wanted to...open the door for us to discuss that, among other things. I’m not going to bind my magic to yours next week without making sure I know what your boundaries and expectations for this are.”

This was uncomfortable. But necessary, probably, so Hermione fought the urge to stand and leave the shop and pending discussion.

“We’re getting married because of a frankly oppressive law. What is there to discuss?” Merlin, the horcrux hunt was easier than this. Sirius, sensing the rising difficulty in Hermione, couldn’t help himself.

“No need to get snappy. If you really have no complaints, then it seems we won’t need to bother worrying about the copulation requirements.” At Hermione’s scandalised blush, he winked. “Don’t be embarrassed love, you’re hardly the first witch to have been-”

He stopped at her wand suddenly against his knee under the table.

“Don’t think I won’t hex you blind if you finish that sentence, Sirius Black!” She whispered fiercely. “We’ll follow the requirements we’ve been ordered, and I have my work. You can join me in the library if you’d like to think about anything more.”

Sirius sat back. So that was it, then. He’d lived and died in rebellion of his cursed family and their cursed ways, only to be resurrected into just the sort of arranged marriage that he hated. He was only surprised that Hermione would 

He finished his tea and stood, picking the bags up again. 

“Very well. Let’s go home.”

Marilyn’s family was as much a whirlwind as Marilyn herself. The witches came and went freely through Grimmauld as well as Hermione’s home. When they arrived while Hermione was gone they simply did their work and left behind new samples, new colour palettes, wedding robes to try on, and who knew what else. Whatever their magic was, they did it well. Hermione scarcely had more to do than say yes or no, stand as robes fell over her, open her mouth to taste the latest creations. When they finally summoned Lord and Lady-to-be Black to showcase their plans, hardly 24 hours remained.

Hermione and Sirius sat idly as the witches handed over their newly made robes, reviewed the venue, the hour, the timeline, the endless details details details that marred every happy event. Sirius hummed and nodded, shook his head and shrugged when he was supposed to, though there was little life in it. 

Shadows had grown long by the time they left, and it looked as if Hermione had nodded off. Somewhere, a clock chimed the hour late. 

“Kreacher!” Sirius called quietly. “Prepare a room for Hermione, please.”

The elf bowed and shuffled off again. Sirius debated with himself briefly, before scooping her up in his arms and following Kreacher. She sighed and shifted slightly. Sirius waved a finger and the blankets folded themselves back. Ever so gently, he lay her in and pulled the blankets up. After a brief moment he bent and brushed a kiss against her forehead before stepping out quickly, the door shutting itself behind him. 

**1 August, 2000. Tuesday.**

Light made it’s way to Hermione’s brain slowly. Noises next. The smell of...bacon? She yawned and stretched. Hermione didn’t make a habit of sleeping much later than 8, even on her days off, but the full sunlight streaming through her window told another story. Voices ebbed and flowed from somewhere lower and Hermione began to take in the foreign details around her. The four post bed, sheer gauze woven around it. A large armoire and vanity, flour to ceiling drapes, some seating. Not her room. But at least she still wore her clothes from the previous night. Nice to know Sirius hadn’t gone that far, she supposed. 

Once her daily hygiene routine completed, Hermione wandered down the stairs. It was easier to distinguish the voices now above and below her. Mrs Weasley and Ginny were the loudest below, making them easy to tell. Whatever others waited sounded similarly feminine in contrast to the boisterous laughter and baritone voices that trickled down from above. Seems they’d done their best to keep the bride and groom separate, if not in different places.

“Oh it’s good to see you dear!” Mrs Weasley greeted her happily in the kitchen. A spatula in one hand, wand in the other, Molly hugged Hermione warmly. Ginny elbowed in after her mother. 

“Doing alright Hermione? See you didn’t stay in your place too long then,” she grinned. At the table, Fleur and Luna smiled politely. Angelina Johnson, the twins’ Match, had a look on her face all too reminiscent of her future spouses. 

“I only stayed here just the last night, and that was because the wedding planners that Black hired were nearly as boring as reading Nagtog’s History of Britain’s Purest Bloodlines.” Hermione said. 

“And did zhe planners include a description of zhe bondwords chosen for you?” Fleur asked curiously. “En France, we ‘ave many bonds, but zhe Brits seem ‘appy to forget zhere is more zhan one way to merge zhe magics.”

Johnson snorted into her tea, likely already well familiar with the topic. Luna, unfortunately, didn’t pick up on it and happily took up the subject. Hermione ate quietly, hoping to avoid much more attention. Whenever a lull in the conversation seemed to appear Mrs Weasley was plenty happy to fill the void with tearful declarations. 

“I’d always thought you’d be one of us dear, and I am of course happy for you,” she sniffled, “but I’ll never forgive that boy of mine for giving up a wonderful witch as you.”

Maybe it would have been better upstairs with the men, Hermione thought.

Unlike the Yule Ball her fourth year, Ginny was not needed to do her hair and makeup this time around. Marilyn’s cousin brought in her own elves and set them to task while Ginny pulled on her maid of honour robes. When it came time for Hermione to dress and the elves to attend Ginny’s hair and makeup, the cousin flitted off to merlin knew where for merlin knew what. Ginny was chattering on about Quidditch to Johnson and Hermione took her chance to slip out. 

She found her way to the drawing room and brushed off the dusty piano. Good thing she hadn’t changed into the wedding robes as ordered or they’d have covered in dirt. They keys looked old and yellowed, unplayed since long before she was born. Slowly, she began to play. Muscle memory took over, notes flowing together into a soft melody from Hermione’s childhood. 

Behind her, a floorboard creaked.  _ It’s just Kreacher _ , Hermione thought determinedly. The keys stuttered slightly but she kept playing. 

“Beautiful song,” a voice murmured behind her. Hermione gasped and missed a note. She struggled to get back on track and gave up, turning around. Sirius stood too close behind her requiring she look up. 

“Clair de Lune?” he asked. She nodded. 

“It was the first recital song my teacher let me pick out. My mum used to play as I was supposed to be asleep.”

“Good choice.” He wrapped his arms around her, their height disparity quite clear in current form. After a moment, Hermione pulled away. 

“That witch will be looking for me. I was supposed to be in my robes by now,” She said softly. Sirius watched as she stood and moved out from the piano and bench. When she made to walk past him to the door he snaked his arms around her again. 

“You look lovely, Hermione. Robes or no robes.” Then he was gone. 

“Ma’am! We’re on a schedule that cannot be halted, Golden Trio member or not! Why are you not in your robes already?” The wedding planner demanded. Hermione hadn’t made it into the door of her dressing room without suffering a scolding. She didn’t answer other than to shrug apologetically. 

When they were all declared ready, the planner handed Hermione a small coin. 

“This is your portkey to the grounds. It’ll put you right inside your tent until it’s time to start. Don’t panic, I’ll meet you there as soon as I check on the other half of your party. Oh, please do not be late, all of you must be on that portkey in-” she checked her watch sharply. “-10 minutes!”

Why she had allowed the planner to move her via portkey, Hermione didn’t know. The dreaded things were almost as unfortunate as riding brooms. Worse, she hardly had a moment to recover before the planner was bustling through the tent dispersing orders. 

“Processional! I need maid of honour this way, please, guests will grow tired of the same four orchestral songs if we don’t Hurry It Up! Where did the officiant go? I  _ told  _ him not to wander off! Bride! Where’s the bride? Just this way duck, you’ll want to stand here until I tell you.”

The officiant had moved off across the grounds towards wherever the end of the aisle was. Ginny stood at the door to the tent, her bouquet dropped against her thigh carelessly. Beyond, Hermione heard an orchestra playing under the gentle noises of polite society: occasional laughter, clinking of glasses, the low hum of an expectant crowd. The planner returned to the tent. 

“Maid of honour! Up up up, there’s no preceding family, and the groom is making his way to the end now, so be on your way please and thank you!” She shooed Ginny out to where Harry stood waiting, arm outstretched for his witch. Andromeda stood waiting with Teddy in her arms. Old enough to toddle about, he hadn’t been truly trusted to do more than hold the suggestion of ring bearer title. Instead, Andromeda charmed the pillow to float down the aisle after her grandson who suffered careful instruction to go to Uncle Sirius. In the toddler’s wake, flowers drifted from above marking a path for Hermione. 

All too soon, Marilyn’s cousin turned. 

“Alright dear, it’s your turn. Out you go. Remember, head high, shoulders back!”

Sirius stood at the end, the officiant next to him. When she appeared at the back, the orchestra changed their tune. Everyone stood and turned. Hermione swallowed nervously.Sirius looked...handsome. Incredibly handsome in black dress robes that made him seem impossibly tall. Long hair fell to his shoulders gently and there wasn’t a way to deny the strength he carried with himself in those shoulders. Doing what had to be done for both their sake. 

“Hermione, hero of our country and without House, do you bind your magic to Sirius, of the Noble and Ancient House of Black? Do you swear your Heir and your honour to this man?”

“I do.”

“Do you give your life and your fidelity in return for a House, and the Strength and greater magics therein?” 

“I do.”

“Sirius, of the Noble and Ancient House of Black, do you bind your magic to Hermione, worthy witch without House? Do you swear to give her an Heir and your honour?”

“I do.”

“Do you give your life and your fidelity in return for new blood, new growth, and the greater magics therein?” 

“I do.”

“Bring forth the rings.”

In fact, the pillow had floated in front of the officiant nearly the entire ceremony. Teddy had needed his nappy changed part way through and the planner was proud she had devised an appropriate plan for a two year old ring bearer. Sirius took the smaller of the two rings and slid it onto Hermione’s finger. She followed suit. 

“Take each other’s forearms.” The officiant intoned with his wand out. “ _ Ecce ego alliges duplicia! Vitum ligatum! Vocavit honorum! _ ” Strands of light spun from his wand and wrapped around their entwined arms. They shown brightly for a moment, then faded into their skin. The officiant stowed his wand and clapped his hands. 

“I pronounce you husband and wife!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used google translate for the Latin, apologies if it's all messed up. It should roughly translate to: I bind, lives tied, honour called.


End file.
